We of Kings and Paupers
by DarthSukiMomo
Summary: Sam and Dean haven't had a real Christmas together. One with the tree decorated with too many ornaments, or with the smell of fresh cookies nearly blocking your ability to smell, or even with the friendly old grandma who has the oddest taste in sweaters. But when Sam suggests that he and Dean stay in a home with a room for temporary rent for the holidays, Dean decides to go for it.


**Written (and inspired) by the Winter Wincest Contest put together by deanplease on tumblr**

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**We of Kings and Paupers**

It was three weeks before Sam first mentioned it. Christmas. Not that Dean had forgotten about it or anything (who really could with everyone wishing him a 'happy holidays' or 'merry christmas'). He just didn't have much of a need to remember it. With all the cases popping up in the last couple weeks, he and Sam had been more than busy with their attention and thoughts. Or, well, that was what Dean thought, up until one night when Sam came into the motel with the widest of smiles on his face.

"Christmas is coming soon," he said simply after setting his laptop onto the table, his jacket over the back of that one rickety chair that Dean was sure was about to break at any given moment.

Sam didn't seem to bother remembering that little fact, striding across the room to sit himself down right next to where Dean was laying lazily on the overly-firm motel bed. He could practically hear the metal springs giving a weak creak of sound when the larger sibling sat his weight down on the edge.

Dean pulled at an eyebrow in simple curiosity. "…And?" He asked. Sammy wasn't one to simply walk in like that, to smile that wide, not unless he got himself laid with one fucking hot chick, or if he had found a break in the case that would lead to its closing. He didn't simply just walk into the motel room at nearly ten at night and say 'Christmas is coming soon' without something to add.

Dean pushed himself to sit up when his brother didn't reply at first, watching him almost warily, as if there was something horribly wrong that Sam was trying to hide behind that too-wide smile. "You tryin' to tell me something? I'm pretty sure I know it's comin', Sammy. Can't really avoid it." Maybe it was just Sammy being, well, Sammy. He was always the more…sentimental(?) of the two of them. He was always the one to remember their birthdays before anything else, or holidays, or even something as small as their first kiss together. Thought it didn't always mean much at first to Dean, it meant something to Sammy.

Sam chuckled, turning his eyes over for just a moment to look at the television. There was a commercial of some type running, one of those late night ones that keep going on and on about how the product is the best, or how it will magically make your life the greatest. While fairly certain it was advertising this stupid little invention that could make four apparently 'delicious' pancakes at once, Dean hadn't been paying much attention to it even before his brother had come into the room with that shit-eating grin of his.

"….I was wondering," and that tone caught Dean's attention. That small, soft little voice that Sam used when he was unsure of something and wanted his big brother's thoughts. A soft hum escaped from his chest, Dean awaiting for Sam to go on until it was obvious that he wasn't, not without some kind of real reply from his sibling.

"You were wondering….?" Dean prompted his brother onward with an amused smile, lazily grabbing for the remote on the other side of the bed so he could turn it off; he was getting a bit annoyed with hearing how well that stupid pan could make four pancakes at once. He didn't even really like pancakes all that much, and the constant talking about it was almost making him sick. When the room was silent again, and Dean was fairly sure that Sam for some reason wasn't trying to make eye contact with him, he tried again. "So, uh…what were you wondering, Sammy? Did you uh- did you want to do something for it this year?"

Sam was quiet for awhile, soft hazel eyes of his flicking back and forth from the bed to Dean's face. Then, after turning and adjusting himself around on the bed so he was almost literally straddling Dean's lower legs. Of course, Dean didn't have any problem at all with that, but wasn't sure why his brother was suddenly acting so fucking shy. That was and wasn't like him all at the same time.

"…I was at the store today. I was getting something for us when I accidentally ran into this one older lady that was shopping—I mean, I didn't hurt her, but I wound up making her drop her basket and a lot of her stuff went everywhere and—"

"Moose," Dean cut in with a sharp grin of his own, which did the desired effect and cut his brother off from his mostly pointless rambling. "Always a klutz. Gonna hurt someone with how big ya are Sammy." But it was all in jest, and it did at least give Sam some air of comfort with whatever worry he was dealing with. Dark hazel eyes glared at Dean for a time, but the older brother merely smiled and laid back on the bed, patting the empty space next to him in invitation for Sam to lay beside.

Sam, who was far too touchy and intimate for his own good, crawled beside Dean with a pleasant hum. Dean knew how much he liked to touch, to be touched and held, and never was outside of using it to his advantage.

It took a few more moments, but Sam finally seemed to calm down and continued explaining what had happened.

"After I helped her get all her things cleaned up, we started to talk." And for a moment, Dean was really trying to piece together why exactly all this was supposed to be worrisome. He was just about to ask that very question when the answer popped right out of Sammy's parted lips.

"I want us to stay at a house and celebrate Christmas."

It took Dean a few long moments to completely understand what Sam just said.

"Stay at a…house?" It didn't compute. Sam and Dean didn't have a house. They had the Impala, but that was the closest they ever really got.

Sam looked a little worried again, as if Dean was about to lash out at him for some reason (when he was really more confused than anything). "…Her name is Maria Habbensworth. She—well, she owns a rental house. Well, more rooms in the house than anything, so like a boarding home? I guess?" Sam pulled at his lips as if to try and find the right word, but Dean's raised brows and confused green eyes must have pushed him along in explanation. "She's renting out rooms for people who don't really have a place to stay for Christmas, and I—well, I mean, we've always celebrated it in a motel and, I mean since—since it's not like we have the apocalypse to worry about anymore, or demons crashing in our front window, I just thought that it would be nice."

Sam took a quick breath, probably after not having breathed at all in his fast explanation, and stared at Dean with those soft eyes of his. It was hard to tell whether he was just worried about what Dean would respond with, or if he was asking in his own Sammy-way for Dean to agree. Dean opened his mouth after a few minutes of gentle thought, but Sam cut him off before he could make a sound.

"She's going to have a huge tree and, you know, make cookies for everyone. Says that she'll have a huge dinner Christmas eve, and I've already checked that we can afford it. It's not all that bad, and I know it's for three weeks, but you know, I kinda like this town and I just don't want to—"

Sam's voice stopped abruptly, Dean's calloused index finger pressing to his lips.

"Fuck, Sammy," Dean all but chuckled, wishing that he had a camera within arm's reach just so he could capture the look on his brother's face. "You do realize that you're going off like a jackrabbit, right?"

It was soft, open, and utterly adorable. He never got to see that look all that often—not outside the intimate moments of lovemaking—but it always left Dean breathless. Sam was beautiful like that. So, it didn't at all surprise himself when he opened his lips.

"Yeah. I mean, I think we could do that this year; if it means that much to you."

Sam smiled bright, biting a little on his bottom lip, and the two of them shared a deep and passionate kiss.

A few days later and the two of them were as moved into the boarding house as they possibly could, with what little they owned of clothes, electronics, or anything really that wasn't a weapon of some sort.

Mrs. Habbensworth turned out to be one hell of a woman. Though of course Dean was absolutely sure she could have been at least in her sixties, she had energy. A lot of it. She was shorter than him, curled grey hair, and had a constant taste in odd-colored sweaters; but he would give the woman definite points for having a bit of sass in the way she held herself up.

It took only two days before Dean and her got into their first stubborn debate. The older Winchester had tracked dirt and snow into the front hall, leaving the older woman almost fuming. After a long and incredible battle of biting remarks back and forth, Dean was the one who had to be on his hands and knees cleaning it up.

Sam hadn't been able to control his laughter at the sight, he and the woman drinking hot chocolate in the kitchen, and Dean muttering little Latin curses under his breath during the entire process.

But, surprisingly, he had quickly grown fond of the old woman's stubborn rules and dry wit. If anything, she somewhat reminded him of his mother. Well, somewhat. She was nice, one way or another, and Sammy had grown even more fond of her than Dean did.

The first week of staying at the woman's home was a bit weird. Sam and Dean promised each other (though for Dean it was a little more of a push) to take a break from hunting. Just for Christmas. Yet, both brothers had a slight habit of waking up in the middle of the night and patrolling around the house.

For a time, Mrs. Habbensworth commented about it. She would ask them what kept both of the brothers up at night over her dinners she made for them and the two others staying with her (they being her son Paul and her daughter, Rosaline). Time and time again Sam or Dean would just say they're light sleepers, and she would happily take that as an excuse.

After a few days, she just stopped asking.

Instead, she decided it was their responsibility for taking her two little dogs out if they needed to be walked late at night.

It was, in some sense of things, a good agreement.

It was a week from Christmas when Dean was in the garage fixing up the Impala.

"Hey, Dean." Sam's voice pulled the man from his activities, half hidden by the opened hood of the Impala. Dean cursed in a hiss when his movement to pull his head out and look at Sam had him bang his head against one very annoying piece of metal holding the hood up, but nonetheless turned his attentions to his younger brother.

"Yeah?" he gruffed, rubbing a hand over the already-tender spot on his forehead. "What'cha want Sammy?" He prayed it wasn't another mess that Mrs. Habbensworth would force him to clean up. The last one wasn't even his fault.

Sam was biting on his lower lip, a half smile gracing his features.I'm going out with Mrs. Habbensworth and her daughter. You know, shopping."

"I really hope you aren't asking me to go along." But Dean was smiling, almost amused by how cute his brother looked, just standing there. The way his neck was covered with a thick and probably hand-knit scarf (which he had few doubts belonged in some way to the old, hilariously stubborn woman), or how his jacket clung around his body. It made Sam look small, if it was even possible. Like the little brother he was to Dean, someone who would always needed to be appreciated and protected.

Fuck, Dean suddenly realized that he had been staring, and quickly pretended that he was putting his attention to some random metal piece in the engine of the Impala. The smile in Sam's voice as he replied (holding back an obvious chuckle), was happily evident.

"No. I don't think you'd be any good at it." And certainly the older Winchester didn't have an argument against that. He heard as Sam took a few steps out of the doorway leading into the house. "I just—I want to talk when I get back, alright?"

"Is everything okay?" Dean always had a problem with thinking the worst when it happened. When Sam said they needed to "talk." It was the way he said it, how his lips seemed to shape the word with priceless, careful intent. The first time that Sam had said that he and Dean needed to "talk," it had ended up with both of them making out on the nearest surface in their motel. Though of course, it wasn't always negative, it certainly meant that Sam needed to talk about something important.

"Yeah, yeah everything is fine-" Sam was quick to assure so with waving, calming palms held in the air in front of him (which was a little funny since he was wearing thick brown mittens that caught and mussed about the hanging knitted scarf). "I just, you know, wanna talk about something that's kinda important."

"Important like, bad-important? Or good?" Eyebrows raised, Dean couldn't even be swayed by Sam and his oversized mittens. When Sam pulled at his bottom lip with his teeth again, he knew it was definitely important. But when the brunet started peering around Dean and the Impala, looking around the garage as if to check if they were alone, he knew it wasimportant. Important somewhere in the category of them fucking and making out on a relatively normal basis. Yeah, important.

But Sam looked satisfied after a few moments at the lack of anyone else in the garage with Dean. Dean chuffed,

"You know we already gave them the story, right?" Boyfriends from out of town, low money, nowhere to stay. Not the best or the most thought-out story to give, but he didn't understand why it was a problem to talk about their relationship. As long as the general public didn't know about the incest thing. It had never been a problem before; the Winchesters already had the uncanny ability to pretend to be people that they weren't.

"Dean." Sam reached out one of his soft-mitten hands when his older brother partially turned back to the engine of the car. "It's good-important, I think. But we really need to talk about it."

"You think?" Dean chuckled, but allowed himself to be pulled away from Baby. Most of the job was already done, since Mrs. Habbensworth's son, Paul (a little younger than Dean), had given him a hand with all the latest adjustments and fix-ups with some of the engine problems he and Sam had been having the last month with her. "It's either good or bad, Sammy. But sure, we can talk about it later." Whatever made Sammy happy, even if there were occasions where he was a bit too girly and feel-y for Dean's liking (well, maybe not as much as Dean would ever outwardly say).

"You aren't going to a bar tonight?" The question made Dean stop for almost a full moment.

"Are you sure there isn't something wrong?" He closed the hood of the impala with a gentle thump of metal. Of course, he and Sammy were more than honest with eachother, about everything, but that wasn't something they always brought up.

"Dean." The two brothers met eye to eye. And they stood there, silent, but the gaze of their meeting eyes spoke volumes that their mere voices never could.

While the two brothers had indeed given into their incestuous desires for several years now, they were anything but exclusive to each other. They still had their individual flings with an occasional chick or dude, but that was just it—it was just a fling. One-night stand (though Dean always managed a lot more than his younger brother did; he always said it was because of his skill). Sam and Dean both understood it was sex and little else. They knew they loved each other and always would.

Still, it didn't stop Sam from being again, a real girl. He constantly asked that Dean and himself get checked for STDs at the nearest walk-in clinic when they were in a big city, and never let his brother and him fuck (or, as Sammy called it 'making love'. Dean wasn't completely against calling it that) without a condom on the respective penetrating brother.

It wasn't something that was necessarily wrong or bad to ask (in some ways, it made Dean calm in knowing that Sam was somewhat concerned with his sexual proclivities outside of their own), but the implication that Sam was reflecting in his question had Dean worried nonetheless.

So when Sam stood there, looking near ridiculous in his thick jacket, mittens and nearly crazy-looking scarf, Dean just had to wonder what was flickering through his baby brother's mind.

"…Just—we need to talk. I want us to talk. Nothing bad, I think, but just…I'll see you tonight?"

Dean could have demanded an explanation right then and there, any number of ways that he knew would make his younger brother talk. But the look of simple vulnerability, even if it was there for only the faintest of moments, made the older Winchester merely press his lips together and nod. He forced a grin after a moment.

"Sure Sammy—uh, yeah, I wasn't plannin' on going anywhere anyway tonight. Paul said he'd help me with Baby, so uh, that was what I was goin' to do." As if to affirm his words, Dean knocked his knuckles up on the underside of the open hood of the Impala. He was still confused why his brother seemed so adamant that he wasn't going to the bar, but there wasn't a chance that he could bother probing further on the subject; Sammy was smiling wide and bright, the happiest he'd ever been in…in a long time.

"Good," the taller of the two whispered, no trace of hidden worry left in his tone. "I should be back in a couple hours. Do you…need me to pick you up anything?"

Dean turned back to the Impala to shut the hood, looking deep in genuine thought. There was little that came to mind that the man actually needed. They had their guns and supplies stocked, safely locked up in the trunk of the dark Impala, so they didn't even need to pay mind to that. Food was gracefully offered by Mrs. Habbensworth (Sam had been the one who seemed more grateful to that than Dean was), so that left little else of the possibility that Dean even needed to want for.

"I guess we need some more lube," Dean finally said with a casual fling of his hand, wiping it on his jeans when he realized he had a dark stain of oil covering most of the palm. He could hear Sam shuffling awkwardly behind him. And Dean knew the other far too well; he knew Sam was probably blushing, him and his easily bashful self. One of the things that made Sammy so good for Dean, made him so easy to desire, to want to protect.

Dean smirked and walked around the car, quickly grabbing an old orange cloth that had been discarded on the floor so he didn't completely ruin his pants with the slick, messy black oil. "Or condoms. We don't have a lot left, so yeah, we need more of them."

When the older Winchester turned his eyes up from wiping off his hands, he was slightly surprised to find Sam giving him a look. Before Dean could properly allow the look to filter through his brain through the many possible expressions that his brother could have been wearing, Sam smiled (a little too wide) and quickly left the garage with a quip of goodbye to Dean.

And Dean was left as he had been before; waiting for Paul to get back from the auto store so they could continue fixing up Baby. But he hadn't a single clue, even hours later, what Sam's expression had meant.

Sam didn't return until later that evening. But Dean was so busy keeping to himself, his mind rolling over one problem after another with the Impala that he barely noticed the noise coming from the kitchen. But when he does, it's loud and piercing. He distinctly heard a shout that was most definitely his brother, and quickly pulled himself from his home project just to listen more intently. After a moment the voice spoke again, shouting things that Dean couldn't quite make out from where he was in the garage.

The oil-stained rag tossed to the ground, Dean's footsteps lead past the door into the house, down the front hall and to the archway that lead into the kitchen. Of course there was the possibility of tracking oil or something in the house, and that Mrs. Habbensworth might get on his back for it (like she had the last three times), but Dean's curiosity was far more powerful than his sense of sanity, and when he peered past the wall he was met with an almost heartwarming sight.

Sam was sitting at the dining room table, his face soft and utterly devoid of tension. It was as if there wasn't a worry for his muscles to hold onto, no thoughts or ill feelings that filled him. And instead, Dean was sure he hadn't seen his brother so relaxed and simply happy in a long time, talking with such mirth and joy that it was almost as if he was looking into a time machine. He was seeing little Sammy again, so alive with joy that it was as if his smile was lighting up the room with it.

Dean watched his younger brother talking to Mrs. Habbensworth and her daughter, from useless topics to snow, fashion, the news, weather, and round circle right back to snow again. Sam looked so relaxed, so….domestic. It brought a smile to Dean's face, who merely stood there poking his head out like an idiot to watch them before-

"Dean?" It was Rose, Mrs. Habbensworth's daughter, with her sharp eagle-eyes that noticed him. Finding little reason to keep his presence a secret, the older Winchester stepped out into the doorway almost sheepily, giving a bright smile and half-praying that the old woman wouldn't start inquiring about his dirty shoes on her floor.

"Uh, hey," Dean replied lightly, his eyes flickering over to Sam's still-joyful face for a moment before he cleared his throat. "I finished up fixin' Baby for tonight and heard you guys come home. Uh, I hope the shopping was…good." It was on quite an awkward note; small talk was never one of Dean's better points of ability.

But Sam noticed it, and almost instantly replied. "It was really nice, actually." And his smile was still there, still bright and happy as it had been before Dean entered the room, and it made his heart give a warm and gleeful thump in his chest at the sight. Sam….being happy. Really happy. "It was really busy of course, but there were a lot of sales but the girls and I-" Sam could have continued talking. He probably had a million things to say, but none of them managed to slip out of his lips after that, most notably since Dean had managed in that time to take the few steps needed over to them, and pressed his own right over Sam's in a chaste, but blissful kiss.

Even when Dean decided to pull away, Sam was still silent. Hazel eyes looked up at his brother for a few moments, and there was nothing else between them in that singular moment but warmth. Sam's happiness was tangible, was beautiful and warm and everything that Dean ever desired for his baby brother to feel. It made his heart leap just to know that Sam wasn't impaired or something, wasn't messed up because of him so he couldn't be that happy anymore. But Sam was happy, and Dean decided it was the most beautiful look on his brother. It made his eyes glow, his face glimmer….it made him absolutely irresistible to look like that.

Somewhere between the glowing kiss and the heated stare, Dean faintly was aware that there were two other people in the room. He started to step away (almost awkwardly, though Sam's smug grin wasn't to be wiped from his face), intent on saying something or another to the fairly surprised woman and her daughter.

But before Dean is even able to filter in what they're saying, Sam's nodding his head and eagerly pushing himself from the chair. He grabbed tight around the older's wrist, pulling him out of the kitchen without a single moment to understand what he was just about to say to Mrs. Habbensworth and her daughter.

It wasn't until Sam has (nearly forcefully) pulled Dean up to their rented room that he actually managed to make his lips work again.

"What the hell?" He asked quickly, pulling his hand out of his younger brother's grasp. His tone was amused, but it didn't lessen the ever so slight confusion that he had for Sam's odd actions. "Seriously, why did you nearly drag me out of the kitchen? I know I'm hot and sexy, but I mean, I don't-"

The elder brother was silenced by yet another kiss, Sam's lips still as soft and warm as they had been just a few moments ago in the kitchen. If anything it made Dean's entire head swim with it, raw sensation and simple adoration for his larger, yet younger brother.

Sam was smiling when he finally pulled away from it, leaving Dean to realize how close their bodies were, how his hands had found their way around Sam's waist.

"…Dean…" The elder brother couldn't keep himself in that pleasant state even if he wanted to, his ears almost instinctually focusing on that tone of voice Sam used when he needed to talk about something. More or less an adaptation from having to look after him for so long in their lives, needing to make sure that Sam was always happy and well-kept.

"…Hmm?" The fact that he had just been demanding answers had quickly been pushed out of his head, leaving nothing but the distinct desire to continue kissing Sam within his brain. What else was he to bother thinking about when he had Sammy right there in his arms?

"We needed to talk, remember?"

"Talk later, Sammy," Dean tried to push himself forward for another aching kiss, but Sam wouldn't allow it. He turned his head away from his older brother's lips (which wasn't all that hard, considering his height). But that got Dean's attention, whom looked at him with almost a glare in his eyes at being denied.

"No," Sam insisted, trying to lead both of them over to their shared bed. "Talk now. I need to talk with you. It's…kinda important."

Dean rolled his eyes and allowed it, though all his mind could churn out in thought was how hot Sam would look like on his knees, or on his back with his legs in the air…. When was the last time they actually did anything together? He couldn't honestly remember, and when that happened it was definitely too long of a gap.

Sam was speaking, and Dean was sure that it was important, given the look of near-worry that his baby brother was intently expressing.

But it wasn't until a pure, distinct phrase from his baby brother's mouth that Dean actually bothered to hone in on the actual words.

"…without a condom."

"What?" Dean asked with a frown. Alright, what had he all missed in his sexy daydream?

"Dean. I wanted to know what you thought of us-" As if it was honestly needed, Sam made a vague gesture between the two of them. "-having sex without a condom."

"Without a condom?" Dean had heard his brother perfectly. Yet his body felt the compulsive need to repeat it, as if he needed to cement the fact that Sammy had said it. Sam nodded, looking almost sheepish. "…bareback? No protection? Seriously Sam, you havin' a stroke or somethin' here? I thought you hated having sex without me havin' one on."

And that was the moment that Sam gave a soft, oddly annoyed sigh. "That's the point, Dean," he started to say with those soft hazel eyes giving him that look all over again. "…I want us to be….well. I want us just to have sex with each other."

And that promptly took even longer to compute within Dean's mind, rolling over the words with acute confusion.

Ever since the brothers started sleeping with each other, they had always known that the relationship wasn't completely monogamous. They still slept with other people, regardless if they always fell back to each other. It was how they worked for years, and Dean hadn't a clue in the world why Sam was suddenly up and asking about changing it. In fact, he wasn't sure whether to be scared, worried, or frustrated at it.

"Sam, I thought we talked about this before…." Dean was sure they had. Back when they started crossing the line from brothers to lovers (however far back that fucking was), they had to have spoken about it. Right? They had spoken about sleeping with other people, of course, Dean was sure he would have at least touched base on it.

They couldn't be monogamous with eachother. It was a line that Dean was always scared of crossing. He didn't want to be the thing that kept his baby brother from having the perfect life. He was fine just being there for the comfort and sex, really, as long as he knew that Sammy was happy.

But Sam was strong and adamant about the point, driving it farther with a glare towards Dean. "Listen. I just…I can't keep going like this anymore." His grip on Dean's hand lessened, and finally his hands fell to his own lap, twiddling fingers almost awkwardly. The air grew stagnant within the room, and it suddenly started to feel difficult to breathe.

"What in the hell do you mean?" Dean inquires with a pulled brow. "We've been doing this for years, know the drill. I mean, if we…you know. You'll find a great girl one day and have a kid with her and, er…" It made Dean's stomach churn with distaste. He absolutely hated the mental image, Sam with anyone else, but he was almost 100% certain that was what Sam wanted, and he never could be that single person keeping his brother from that happiness.

Sam looked at him for a moment, and it literally broke Dean's heart to return his gaze. Hazel eyes were staring at him, through all the flesh and bone and right into his soul, right where it hurt the most.

It made his baby brother's confession even worse of a revelation.

"I haven't slept with anyone else in three months, Dean."

And fuck if that didn't make the older brother's heart give a tiny lurch of hope. Sam huffed and continued to twiddle his fingers while Dean moved his lips about awkwardly, trying to remember how to reply.

"…nobody?"

"Nobody. Except you. I tried once or twice but….I just can't. I literally can't." And Sam scowled to himself, as if remembering something incredibly unpleasant. Dean didn't even bother to ask what it was that made the expression pull at Sam's normally soft features. He could probably guess it. Because hearing Sammy say that hit closer to home than he would have liked.

He bit on his lower lip with growing worry, stomach and mind churning with similar ache and emptiness.

It wasn't until Dean felt Sam's long, awkward arms wrapping around his shoulders that he pulled himself out of his stupor, head turning sharply to the side just to find his brother's face right next to his. Their lips were only a breath away from eachother, just about ready to touch. It was hot and perfect in every way but one.

"…Sammy." Dean wanted to find a reason, any reason really, to try and derail Sam from what he obviously wanted. And Dean wanted it to, he really did, wanted it like nothing else in the world. But it wouldn't be normal. Not that they really knew what 'normal' was at that point in their lives (well, any point really), but Dean had clung to that little dot of decision for years. Sam would get married. Sam would have a kid. His Sammy, his baby brother Sammy would have a family and be happy. Dean was almost sure that couldn't be achieved if Dean was the person Sam wanted like that.

Almost.

When the elder brother tried to put all his reasons and thoughts to actual words Sam cut him off, lips brushing over in a soft touch of velvet and flesh.

"Please," he nearly begged, though his voice was doing anything but. It was soft and light in everything that was Sammy, baby brother Sammy, in that little voice that would always beg for the coolest trading card or for Dean to just stop it, he's not a kid anymore. It was the voice that big brother Dean could never deny.

Before either of them could realize it, they were kissing sloppily on the bed, limbs tangled as much as their tongues were. Little hushed sounds of 'Dean please' made their way past Sam's soft lips between the frantic need for teeth and tongue.

Somewhere in between all that passion, Dean's hands found the hem of his brother's shirt and started eagerly to pull it up, to run his palms over that perfect expanse of sensitive skin, to roll the pads of his calloused thumbs over those perfect pink nipples and watch how much it made his baby brother squirm-

"Dean…" Sam complained at the movement, denying the other the ability to pull his shirt up by grabbing Dean's wrist. "Seriously. I need an answer." And damn it for Sam's ability to focus on things like words and questions through sex. One of the things Dean really didn't like. It made Sam all the more like a girl.

The older brother turned his emerald eyes over for just a moment, a simple flicker to the bedside stand where he knew the last couple condoms lay hidden in the drawer. Though it wasn't as if there was much of a choice in his answer.

"Is this what you want?" Dean spoke gentle, but firm, hands reaching up to hold Sam's face. Their eyes meet with a roaring intensity, one that he was sure if material would have more power than all of the weapons in the trunk of the Impala. It was….it was honest.

"Yes." Sam gave Dean a look, a look that he could recall to being on the younger Winchester's face many a time or two when he was younger. That pleading, begging look that he always gave Dean. "I want this, I want you. Please Dean, just…tell me you want the same? Tell me we can try?"

Try to be together. Try to be only one for the other. Try to be as normal as they could get in their fucked-up life.

Just as Dean allowed his lips to part open in reply, something snapped. Something deep and primal, something that took his entire body in waves of absolute power that he simply couldn't place. He flipped the both of them over instantly, hovering over Sam's body like a gate.

And then they were kissing again, Sam's hands held down just above his head in his older brother's powerful grip.

"Fuck, Sammy," Dean grunted between kisses, flurrying presses of lips everywhere he could reach. Soft cheeks, warm throat, nose, forehead. Everywhere that was his Sammy.

His Sammy. HIS Sammy. Dean was sure he never felt such power before. Such passionate power that could make his every cell light up in raw, unrestrained joy.

His natural worry for what was right and wrong could go fuck itself. He hadhis Sammy. All his. Baby brother Sammy that he could hold and love and protect. If Sam wanted it, he could have it, every last inch of it. Dean was more than happy to spill his love for his brother, in any way that he could.

The kissing became heated without hesitation, and soon the two brothers were pulling clothes off. Naked flesh pressed together eagerly, the only sound being that of their hot breath coursing over pale and tan flesh.

When they were both finally nude, Dean's hand fumbled over to the bedside table, opening the drawer with a quick and jerky motion. Within lay a clutter of objects, from small bottles of lotion, lube, a few of the aforementioned condoms, and a few random trinkets that he was sure really didn't belong there.

When Dean pulled out the small ring of rubber and held it between their bodies so Sam could see, he was just about sure that his brother was just about to toss him off the bed and onto the hard wooden floor. But just before Sam had the chance to (expression between that of hurt and confusion), Dean leaned down and pressed one simple, gentle kiss to those perfect lips he loved so much.

"I suppose we won't need these anymore…" He whispered against them. With a small flick of his wrist, the condom was across the room, quickly forgotten as Dean went back to rooting around for the real item he had been transfixed on finding.

He came back this time with lube, clear and nothing special in a small container that had only been used once. Sam's eyes were practically gleaming up at him. He was sure there was some form of gratefulness hidden in those fuckin' perfect hazel eyes, but it was instead transferred through several deep, slow kisses, the kind that Dean was sure should have been branded as sex in their own form.

Though he wanted to make it last, wanted to feel the new sense of passion smoldering between him and Sam, the nagging desire to push himself into that tight heat was almost painful. To know he was bare, without anything dulling the pleasure between them, to feel himself in Sammy like that. The thought made him shiver in instant pleasure.

"Gonna get you all slicked up, alright baby boy?" Dean was seated between Sam's legs without hesitation, pushing those tan thighs apart with gentle hands and cooing, ever-so-familiar words. "So I can push myself into that tight ass of yours. Nice and hot huh, bet it's gonna be even better without a piece of rubber between us…" Was that a kink? If it wasn't, Dean was fairly sure he was starting to make it one for himself. Bare cock in Sam's perfect ass. Yeah, now that was definitely a kink if it was making his own dick jump like that. Hot, hard and aching to be inside his brother.

Sam didn't reply with words. He almost never did when pushed that far in pleasure. Instead, he made his thoughts clear with his expression. Sam always had an expressive face, and it only seemed to be even more obvious during sex. Dean always thought it made him more beautiful, however.

It didn't take long before Dean had two slicked fingers pressing against the rim of Sam's hole, gently pushing in until the tips just barely poked in. Sam squirmed, and Dean continued to coo gentle words of meaningful affection in his ear.

"Hey baby boy, it's alright. Dean's gonna take good care of ya'. Gonna make you feel so fuckin' good Sammy, better than any chick could. Yeah, just like that, gonna make you squeal my name." By the end of the last word, his fingers were in a knuckle deeper, pushing in and out in light thrusts. Sam moaned, light and soft until it was nearly a mewl of sound, and Dean took it to mean that he could push in a bit farther.

Soon the entire length of both fingers were swallowed up by that perfect heat, all slick and tight in just the right way that Dean liked. Not sloppy like some drunk chick's at a bar, but velvety like a rose. It was a heat that was familiar, one that Dean couldn't help but let himself want and need and yearn for. Because it was Sam.

It took the older brother a few extra thrusts before he was fairly certain he found that little bundle inside his brother. Even after years of doing it, the angle was always hard to get. He had to crook his fingers just right, in just the right way to find it. And even then Sam had to be a mass of pleasured limbs already before he could take it, always complaining that any bit of contact beforehand was too much. If one of his old girlfriends would have complained that bad, Dean was fairly certain that he would have never bothered to finger them again.

But it was more than worth it with Sammy. Because when Dean finally found it, finally did it in just the right way, it made Sam's eyes light up. The way he would arch his back into the touch, his cheeks flushed hot and red. It was perfect, the most beautiful sight he could have ever laid eyes on.

Beautiful Sammy. Fucking perfect, so perfect and beautiful in ways Dean would never find in anyone else. With his perfect face and perfect eyes and absolutely fuckin' perfect smile.

"Oh fuck….Dean…" And moans too. Dean went absolutely crazy to hear Sam's moans and whimpers.

Dean couldn't even begin to explain how fast he went from being knuckle-deep in Sam's ass to pushing the head of his cock up against the rim of his brother's tight opening. It was as if his fingers hadn't done a single thing to stretch his brother open, the pucker just as tight and clenching as it had been before, and that alone made Dean feel a million shades hotter.

"Hmm….feel that, baby boy?" Dean hummed in pleasure, merely letting the tip rub around in messy circles about the hot tightness of muscles. "Gonna fuck you just right. Nice and bare, nothin' between us. Fuck Sammy, yeah, already feel so good…" Dean slicked his cock up with what of the lube was left over his hands, messy and slippery and all too perfect.

He hooked those long legs over his shoulders without a word, and pushed himself in with slow, loving intent.

Fuck; Sam felt even tighter than before. The absence of a condom contributed to the sensation, hot skin on skin, feeling his baby brother as much inside as he did out.

And Sam was loving it. Writhing about like a girl having sex for the first time. His hands moving about, searching before they gripped onto Dean's biceps, or how his mouth fell open with silent moans of need.

Fuck. It was a beautiful sight. Dean actually wanted to take a picture just so he could hang it in the Impala, just so he could look at it whenever he wanted. Sammy's soft face taken like that, raw in passion and pleasure.

"So fuckin' tight, baby. Fuckin' fuck." Less coherent thought managed through Dean's thought-to-mouth filter, leaving him with nothing more than errant cussing and desperate rutting against his brother. Deep within him, in and out, back and forth. It was so good, so perfectly wonderful that it made his nerves light up even brighter than the christmas tree downstairs. And he didn't even need to move all that quickly, instead working his way through the pleasure with slow, lazy thrusts, savoring the sensation of beingbare within Sam's gorgeous body.

It was even different to come without a condom on; upon release, he just let go. Dean could feel himself emptying within his baby brother, and fuck it all if that wasn't some form of pride that ran through his mind. Knowing that he claimed Sam in a way he couldn't before, marking the man as his and his alone. His Sammy. His beautiful Sammy.

He lazily thrusted through his own orgasm and into Sam's, watching in muted and slurred pleasure as Sam gave little shouts and muffled whimpers, while his cock gave a couple hearty jumps to messy both of their fronts with thick, white stripes.

"Sammy, fuck, baby boy oh fuck—FUCK you feel so good. Fillin' you up so full, yeah, yeah, that's good baby…." Though Dean was long done with his own release, it was nothing less than sweet and warm to watch Sam's finish the last couple waves of his own, slowly pulling himself out of the other and laying down besides the lanky, awkward Winchester. "…Sammy. So beautiful…."

And damn it all if Dean couldn't have his occasional chick-flick moment. He just had one of the best fucks in the last decade (at least) and he wanted to damn well revel in it. The laziest, most fantastic fuck ever. Not to mention, with what it had as a meaning, he'd be having much of the same kind of sex for a long time coming.

Neither brother honestly cared that they were covered in come and sweat and who knew what else. They were pressed together, chest to chest, warm and happy in ways that they were sure probably should have been nonexistent.

"…I love you, Sammy," Dean whispered, stroking a single finger down Sam's sweat-clinging cheek. Sam allowed his eyes to flutter open, the first time since the peak of orgasm, and instantly clung his gaze upon his brother.

Sam smiled then, soft and lazy, as if his entire body was made of some kind of hot dough. "…Love you too, Dean. Always will."

Dean was sure that somehow, somewhere, he was going to ingrain that image into his brain. That look of absolute happiness upon his baby brother's face.

It was a week later, and laughter was in full force.

"I think you might find that helpful with the weather now, sonny," Mrs. Habbensworth's eyes were wide with serious intent, looking at Dean in such a glare that he was certain that if he didn't agree, there would be poison in his dinner that evening. He chuckled sheepishly and held the sweater up again like it was a white flag of peace.

"I'll wear it, really, totally will." He promised it with yet another smile, though it was obvious by the returning look of smug, rolling eyes from the older woman that she really didn't believe him. Sam, who was sitting snug beside Dean, stole the dark brown-and-red sweater from his hands, instead holding it against his chest.

"If he doesn't, I know I will." Dean isn't sure how his brother could speak like that with that ugly sweater in his grasp, but he'd be damned if he would even try to argue it. He wasn't….a sweater guy. Especially not a brown-and-red sweater guy. He'd let Sammy win on that account.

Paul was the next to open a gift, from his sister, finding out with a smile that yes, she knew that he needed a new tool set for his work. Perfect, shiney and new, it seemed as if that was the only thing on his mind, even when his sister Rosaline started to reach for the next gift under the tree.

"Oh uh, hey Dean? You got another." She held it in both hands, weighing it experimentally. "The tag says it's from…uh, oh, from your boyfriend." She smirked and leaned over the arm of the couch so Sam could reach for it himself, then hand it over to Dean.

Dean could have sworn he saw some sort of smirk practically beaming from his brother, but he was too curious about how much the freaking thing weighed to care. It was just a small box for crying out loud! How could it weigh that much?

"I really hope you like it," Sam whispered beside him, that smug idiot still holding onto that horrid sweater like it was the best gift he'd ever gotten in woolen form.

Dean should have been a tad worried at that, but nonetheless tore open the red paper wrapped about the box. When he finally had the actual object revealed, he nearly shoved Sam off the couch.

Instead of taking the expression on Dean's face as a warning, Sam merely laughed, leaning over to Dean's ear and whispering, "After all, since you like pancakes so much."

Dean stared at the ridiculous pancake maker from the ridiculous infomercials, now in his hands.

Fucking Sammy.

Fucking perfect, beautiful Sammy, and his stupid eyes, his stupid smile.

And most of all, his absolutely stupid need for somehow managing to put together the first actual Christmas that Dean and he could have together.

As lovers as much as brothers.


End file.
